The Pain of the Children
by Amara Kingley
Summary: At the announcement of the 20th Hunger Games, 24 tributes are sent into the arena to fight for their right to live. How are they to survive when their own horrors become reality? [DISCONTINUED]
1. The Beginning

**This was the original opening I had written for the submission process. I like it and went ahead and edited it a bit so I could re-upload it. I have major writers block right now but am working through to get the next reapings up. Just sit tight :)**

**Amara**

The television screen is dark. Many wonder if their set is broken. Others know better and wait in anticipation. A woman appears on the screen from the dark and introduces herself as Amara Kingley, the Gamemaster.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," she begins, "I am ever so grateful to announce this year's 20th annual hunger games! The arena is almost finished and you know what that means." She smiles and winks at the camera."Yup! The Reapings are coming up! Oh aren't we excited!" she gave a little twirl and giggled. "Now before the reapings begin, all potential tributes are to fill out the flyer that was sent to you. Fill out the form for every potential child you have and send to the capitol!" She flung her arms in the air from pure enjoyment. "Ladies and Gentlemen, the 20th annual hunger games are a go. May the odds be ever in your favor. Until then." And she vanished.

Mothers broke down and cried their hearts out for their children. Fathers just stared at the blank screen in shock. Brother and sisters hugged each other in fear for the reapings that will come soon. No one wants to go but there is no choice. Parents must forfeit their children to the Capitol.

Forms are filled out and sent to the Capitol. Amara Kingley sits and reads them, a smile on her face. "These games are going to be fun." She laughed. The laugh disappeared when she realized there were forms missing. She grew upset and called President Snow.

"President Snow, there are forms missing. All families were told to submit them to the Capitol. Any ideas as to come about this problem?"

"I will take care of it." The man's voice hissed through the phone and with a click he was gone.


	2. The Reapings Of One

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games. The lovely Suzanne Collins does. For if i owned it Peeta would be my bitch.**

**Peeta: What? !**

The mid morning sun casts shadows across the tree trunks and the flame-colored floor in a splatter of shapes and shades. The wind ruffles the trees' hair, sending fiery strands to the forest floor. Birds whistle a melodic tune, warning squirrels hunting acorns of danger in their midst.

The forest on the edge of District 1 is the only evidence that greenery once grew beneath its stones. When August turns to September, the forest begins to lose its green and to shed its coat in colors of red, gold, and orange. Those who don't know better would likely believe the forest to be on fire and rush to save the precious material from burning to ashes. Its good people know better.

This small secluded forest has been under demolition for years. At least that's what the district says it has been doing. In actuality, many of its citizens train out there for the annual Hunger Games. The rules of the Games do not allow it, but what the Capitol doesn't know won't hurt them. Most eligible kids were there cramming in any last bit of training before the Reaping began that same afternoon.

Training is what 15 year old Shasta Rage should be doing. Instead, he is searching for his beagle, Max, who thinks it is wonderful fun to run off every other week just for Shasta to track him down and drag him home. Despite this, Shasta loves his dog. He found the bundle of demonic joy the day of his first reaping. Shasta, then a measly 12 year old boy, was with his father celebrating another year of life to in town when they came across the lame pup. Even then he was a demon, nipping at the ankles of those that dared cross its path. Many simply kicked the dog out of the way which hit a soft spot in the 12-year-old's heart. It was a miracle Shasta's father allowed him to keep the pup. Shasta attributed it to his father's pleasant mood.

Now here Shasta is, attempting to once again locate the escaped animal. Shasta takes this as a training exercise. Over the past three years Shasta has gotten rather skilled at tracking Max down. Reading tracks left by the flamboyant animal comes as second nature to him now, as does identifying their direction and age. The tracks he's found this morning lead him to the edge of the forest. He knows the pain in the ass is here; this is his usual hiding spot. The leaves that now cover the ground limit his ability to track down the stupid animal within the forest, but it's not anything he can't handle.

Shasta kneels to the ground and examines the partial puppy prints among the scattered leaves. The prints aren't complete enough to determine a direction, but the dirt around the edge hasn't yet settled. The tracks can't be more than a half hour old. Shasta closes his eyes and listens. He doesn't know how long he has knelt there before he hears the tinkle of metal and it doesn't matter. He hears it now. The sound of Max's dog tags.

Without a moment's hesitation Shasta runs in the direction of the sound. It is times like these that he's grateful he keeps his hair short and out of his eyes. He can do without giving himself a concussion from running into a tree just because his hair decides to play games with him. The tinkling of Max's dog tags stops for periods of time, leaving Shasta to run blindly in one direction hoping Max doesn't change course. Eventually, Shasta finds the beagle wagging his tail in pure delight, nose plastered to the ground sniffing out the critters that inhabit the forest.

"Max!" Shasta barks. The dog perks up at the sound of Shasta's voice, tail wagging 100 miles an hour in pure happiness.

"C'mere boy!" Max bounds across the space separating pet from owner only to thrust his front paws up to Shasta's chest and enthusiastically lick his face of all salt.

"Okay, okay boy. That's enough." He pushes the dog off him.

"You can't keep doing this Max. One of these days I'm not going to come out and look for you." Max looks up at him, tongue hanging out his mouth, dark eyes glowing, his tail a metronome of joy. Shasta gives a small sigh.

"Let's go home Max. I don't have any more time to train, thanks to you." Max gives a bark and takes off in the direction of home. At least Shasta thinks that way is towards home. He isn't exactly sure where he is. Everything looks the same to him. The year he had started going into the woods was tough. Shasta would get so lost that his father would have to eventually find him. Max was smart enough to learn the way home.

The walk home from the forest isn't long. Thankfully, Shasta lives in a house on the edge of town, not far from the secluded greenery. The house isn't much and has nothing extravagant to make it particularly stand out.

"Dad, I'm home." Shasta calls from the front door when he arrived.

"So where was he this time?" Shasta's dad emerges from the kitchen; a damp dishrag flung over one shoulder.

"Forest again. Not too far this time." His father nods and ducks back into the kitchen. Shasta follows.

"You hungry? I was just making breakfast." Shasta shakes his head.

"No, I already ate." It's a complete lie. He's supposed to be with Dennisla right now, though, and late is something he can't be. His father gives a knowing look and turns back to his food.

"Alright then. Say hi to Dennisla for me."

"I will."

Every year is the same, so he knows what to expect as he leaves his house. Reaping day is one of the most dreaded days of the year, yet the whole nation is meant to treat it as a holiday. Everyone gets the day off from work and school and has the "privilege" of watching children getting sentenced to death. For some, it's an honor to be reaped or even volunteer. For most it's just sick and revolting. Then there's the few that are content and have just learned to deal with the Capitol's Games.

For safety's sake, Shasta and Dennisla meet at the same spot on the edge of the district every year and spend what could be their last moments together. And then they break up. If either was to be chosen, they wouldn't want the guilt about the other fighting to come back to them. It has always been the deal and they have stuck to it for the 2 years they've dated. This is to be the third. Shasta has gotten used to it and no longer feels pain in his heart when she says those five god awful words. He only pretends now.

He reaches the edge of the district and the field where he and Dennisla meet. She's already there. He's late.

"Dammit." He says under his breath as he narrows the distance between them. He sits down on the grass next to her without saying a word. They sit like that for a minute before Dennisla responds to his presence.

"You're late."

_And she's pissed, _Shasta thinks to himself.  
>"Sorry." Shasta hears her sigh.<p>

"It's alright. Just thought that maybe you forgot." A hint of sadness plays on her tongue. This strikes Shasta in the heart. He turns to her and grips her shoulders.

Shasta cannot believe she would think that, of all days, he would forget that he would forget the day that he would break up with her for maybe only hours. He had never even forgotten a date he had with her. He needs to make sure she knows that he could never forget her.

"I would never forget. I want you to remember that."

She nods at his words and closes the distance between them. Her lips are soft and warm against his and he can't help but make a moan of pleasure in the back of his throat. Dennisla smiles against his lips.

"I'm breaking up with you." She whispers to him. Shasta clutches his heart animatedly in pretend hurt.

"Oh Dennisla, you break my heart with your vile tongue." She laughs and pulls him to her.

"Just shut up and kiss me."

Shasta leaves Dennisla at noon and heads home. He still needs to bathe and dress for the 2 o'clock Reapings. As he walks through the square, workers are making the final adjustments to banners and other "festive" decorations to the stage where the children of the district will receive their sentence. Shasta doesn't particularly care; it is another event that he will shove in the back of his mind when it's over.

His father isn't in the living room or in the kitchen as he usually would be when Shasta he gets home. Shasta shrugs it off and drags himself to his room to shower. Being residents of one of the more privileged districts, running hot water is given to them. They don't get it all the time but it is nice knowing that a nice hot shower awaits him when he gets home on Reaping day at the very least.

His blonde hair seems brighter after the shower did its job. Shasta yanks on the dark grey suit that hangs in the back of his closet. Surprisingly the suit fits him perfectly. His shoulders had broadened a bit from his training and fill the jacket quite nicely. Shasta is very pleased.

The clock strikes one and Shasta decides to head to the square to check in. His father still isn't home and he figures he'll see him after the reaping. Many other kids of different age groups walk the streets in their best attire. Many go to see family, others to see friends. Peacekeepers are stationed at the stage, herding children into the appropriate roped areas. Shasta gives them his name and stands in the area for the 15 year old boys. He's early and stands in his section, quietly waiting for the other children in his district to file in. Around a quarter to two, most of the district is settled in their appropriate areas. Shasta stands among some kids from his class but no one really says anything. Most are scared shitless.

The clock upon the justice building strikes two and the Reaping begins. Shasta zones out as the mayor stands up and tells the History of Panem. Shasta probably would have cared if he was a 12 year old again, concentrating just so he wouldn't piss himself from fear. He only pays any attention when the freak of an escort comes up to the stage. Shasta can never remember his name. It's something like Sparkle Fairydinkle, or some shit like that.

"Welcome District One to the 20th Annual Hunger Games!" the escort booms into the microphone. "Let's change things up a little and start with the boys today. May the odds be ever in your favor." Way to keep it short, Fairydinkle. The escort sticks his hand into the glass ball full of slips of paper.

_Four slips. Both of us have four slips. The odds are definitely in our favor._Shasta catches himself praying. He doesn't know how nervous he was until the escort walks back to the podium, a slip in hand.

"And our male tribute is Shasta Rage." Boom. One sentence Shasta can't believe that he's hearing. This year is his year. He makes his way through the crowd and mounts the steps to the stage. Surprisingly, he's no longer frightened. He's actually confident. He smirks and crosses his arms; showing confidence in his body language.

He doesn't know the girl that was reaped with him nor does he care. He has every intent to ignore her. The girl takes the stage with a happy smile on her face. Her smile falls at the call of a volunteer. She moves down the stairs, up to the volunteer, and punches her square in the jaw.

"Bitch, don't _fucking_volunteer for me!" She plants herself on the stage again, angry eyes glaring at the crowd. Fairydinkle hesitantly ushers the two to shake hands while the anthem played in the background. They're shoved off the stage and into the Justice Building and into separate rooms as they wait for their family and friends to send them off. Shasta stands in the middle of the room, waiting for his father or Dennisla to come in. The door opened after a few minutes and his father stepped into the room. He was misty eyed and Shasta feels himself holding back tears. His father wraps him in a hug that nearly crushes Shasta's ribcage.

"You have to win son, you have to." Shasta nods into his dad's shoulder.

"I will." And they're silent for the rest of the time; the father holding his son for what could be the last time.

"Mom would be proud of you." His father whispers finally. Shasta is taken aback. It's a silent rule that the mention of the mother who died giving birth to him was never to be mentioned. It always brings his father to tears. Now that she's been mentioned, Shasta has no idea what to say.

"I think she'd be more proud of you, dad." His father stifles a sob and stands back. He takes a deep breath and smiles.

"Go get 'em. Come home and make me rich." Shasta laughs.

"Don't worry, I will." The peacekeepers come in then and take his father away, only to replace him with Dennisla.

Shasta's face lights up. He rushes over to her and sweeps her of her feet. She laughs and kisses him, tears running down her cheeks in rivers. Shasta sets her down and wipes the tears from her face.

"I'll fight for you." He says after a moment. "I'll win and come back to you." Dennisla shakes her head fiercely.

"We had a deal. If we get picked-" Shasta interrupts her with a kiss.

"_That_deal I'm going to break. I'll fight for you and when I come back, you don't have to worry anymore." Dennisla begins to cry harder. She lets her head fall, knowing she was defeated; there's no changing his mind.

"You come back. Promise me you'll come back." Shasta doesn't know if he wants to make that promise. He knows there's a slight chance he won't come back. Instead he gives her one last kiss before the Peacekeepers take her away.

**A/N: Here is the revised version of District One, edited by Ella Not Lotte. Thank you so much girl :D Be sure to check out the other revised chapters**

**Always,  
>Amara Kingley <strong>


	3. The Reapings of Two

**Disclaimer: I, Amara Kingley, forfeit all rights to the Hunger Games realm to Suzanne Collins and all tributes and their families and friends to their respectful owners. I claim ownership to the Head Gamemaker and any creations I put in this story.**

Lysette:

Julious Rennee is an evil bastard. Ever since his daughter Lysette could walk, training her had been his sole mission. Many times he had nearly killed her teaching her to fight. In any other district, Peacekeepers would have been sent to his home to take his daughter from him. However, this routine is normal for District Two. By the time kids are ten years old, they've already had one near death experience and the battle scars to prove it. Julious was determined to make a winner out of his daughter, no matter the cost.

Lysette is 17 now; a fine age for the games. Five years she has been eligible to enter and her name has never been reaped from the glass ball, nor has she had the decency to volunteer. Not this year, though. This year is her year and the year Julious will get his winner.

"Today is reaping day," Julious states. He's sitting at the small round table that occupies the corner of the kitchen. Lysette stands at the stove a few feet from him, eyebrows scrunched, concentrating on the eggs she is making. She nods, her concentration elsewhere.

"You're volunteering this year, right?"

"Yes, father," she sighs. Julious raises an eyebrow.

"You better," he threatens. "If you are not on that stage prepared to go to the Capitol, you're going to _wish_ you were."

"Yes, father," Lysette mumbles. She_ hates_ this. It seemed as though her father will do anything to kill her. With all the cuts volunteer for the Games himself will be forgotten. Lysette can't complain too much. The winnings are worth it, not to mention she's from one of the districts that have become known as the "Careers." Over the past two decades the games have been held, districts and bruises she's received over the years, she's surprised he hasn't already. He's gotten close quite a few times.

She's a victim of tradition; what his father had done unto him, he does unto his daughter. It's really a pride thing. If she wins the Hunger Games, he has something to brag about to the people in town and his failure to one, two and four have grown to be favorites. They are bigger, stronger, and are sponsored the most. Does she have a chance? By far.

Silence fills the kitchen with the exception of the occasional sizzle from the frying pan. Lysette hates the silence so much that all she wants to do at that moment is to fling the frying pan across the room. Miraculously, Lysette keeps her composure and the plate of eggs she cooked makes it in front of her father and not on his kitchen floor. Julious eats in silence, carefully eyeing his daughter from across the table. Her demeanor is nervous- her fingers fiddling with the edge of her glass. He frowns at that, and his expression says that she'd better volunteer.

"You're going to be late." He states matter-of-factly. Lysette glances at the clock displayed on the wall opposite her. She has an hour to kill before the reaping begins, but to defy her father meant a death sentence worse than the Hunger Games.

Lysette stands to dump her glass into the sink and_ accidently_ bumps into her father's arm, sending his glass crashing to the floor. Lysette says, "I'll see you at the reaping," before swiftly heading out the door, avoiding her father's wrath.

District Two is one of those districts that succumbed to the awesome power of the Capitol, meaning that they glorify the Hunger Games. It is quite obvious in town as streamers and lanterns hang from rooftops and light posts. People laugh and talk animatedly like this is a holiday. It sickens Lysette. She thinks it is stupid to celebrate the death sentence of 23 children every year. She feels like lashing out at these people- yelling and screaming how stupid they are- but decides against it. The street opened up into the town square. The wooden stage erected in front of the Justice Building would normally fill a potential tribute with excitement and joy, especially with the accompanying prospect of sharing the stage with the famous Marissa Mar. Marissa Mar had been the Victor of the 15th Hunger Games; she had won through deception and brutal tactics. She is dangerously beautiful: blonde hair just past her shoulders, brilliant green eyes, and a frame that would make even a supermodel cry with envy. She is a terrible mentor, even if she is the best of the best. No one from District Two has won since.

To Lysette, the stage does not bring her joy. No, it only brings her dread and the realization hits her that this year, she will be standing in the same spot Marissa stood only five years earlier. She can feel her hands beginning to shake and she sticks them in the pockets of her shorts to stop them. She approaches the Peacekeeper in charge of her section and checks in. Some potential tributes are already in their designated areas but most don't show up until about a half hour before. Lysette recognizes some girls from school that stand among her but she doesn't take part in their conversation. She glances around and she suddenly feels underdressed; all the other girls are in some kind of formal dress while she is stuck in jean shorts and flimsy sneakers. She kind of wishes she could run home and change, but knowing the Peacekeepers, there is no way that they would allow her to leave the square.

More children begin to pile in and family and friends not eligible to partake in the Reapings make their way into a separate roped off section. Lysette can barely catch a glimpse of a head of dark shaggy hair but she knows it is Shane, her best friend and ex-boyfriend. She feels better knowing he is here; he always did support her. The clock strikes the hour and the mayor stands up to the podium and begins his speech of the nation's history. It's the exact same speech he reads every year and every year he gets less and less enthusiastic with his words. He calls Marissa Mar up to wish the tributes luck and Lysette swears she hears the whole male section sigh with lust as she speaks into the microphone. The District's escort comes up to the stage and speaks so fast into the microphone no one knows what the hell she is saying. It won't matter, but when she makes her way to the female's reaping ball, Lysette begins to tense. Her eyes search for her father in the crowd. She can't see him and begins to wonder. She doesn't wonder long as a name is called.

"Veronica Johnson?" The escort calls out, saying the name as though she is asking permission to call the child up. A mother screams in the crowd and that is enough for Lysette.

"_**I volunteer**_!" she yells above the screams. The crowd parts for her to make her way up to the stage and plant her feet on the stage facing the crowd. She can see her father now, a smile stretching across his face; pleased. The escort gives a too enthusiastic smile and holds the microphone in front of Lysette, obviously wanting her name.

"Lysette Rennee." She says into the microphone, arms crossing in front of her in an attempt to hide her shaking hands.

Clayton:

Clayton Matthews smiles. The girl- Lysette was her name, right? -stands up on the stage eyes set with determination and arms crossed. Her demeanor is that of a confident girl, ready to kill. The scar across her cheek helps keep up that image. However, if one were to look close enough they would see her hands shaking violently. This is the reason that Clayton is smiling. He knows that he could easily snap her neck without so much a sliver of remorse. The arm of his friend and training buddy, Scott, wraps itself around his shoulders.

"She's kinda cute, huh?" Scott asks, mostly to himself. "Kinda like our little Cinderella here." Scott ruffles Clayton's blonde hair. Clayton swats his hand away.

"_Lay off_, will you?" he growls. Scott just laughs and plants a teasing kiss on Clayton's cheek.

"I can't help it that you're so cute." Clayton shoves Scott off him with a scowl. God, does he hate that. He's_ not_ cute. No way. Clayton runs a hand through his hair out of frustration. It really ticks him off that his features are more rounded than those of most guys his age. He envies that.

The escort moves to the other side of the stage that holds the glass ball with the male names.

"Don't get _any_ ideas." Scott warns, eyes now lacking the playful gleam they had only moments before. "I'm volunteering today so don't you _dare_ ruin this for me." Clayton scoffs internally. If only he knew. Clayton has been planning this for a while now. The possibility of him giving up this opportunity just to make Scott happy is nonexistent. He could care less about Scott's happiness. He needs to get up on that stage before Scott. Clayton begins to move away from Scott and head to the front.

"Clay! Where're you going? _Clay_!" Clayton continues to ignore Scott. The stage is just in sight when the escort calls out the reaped child.

"Kayden Newman!"

"_**I Volunteer**_!" Clayton booms, hand raised above his head as high as it could possibly go. The escort smiles and motions for Clayton to take the stage. Clayton bounces up the stairs, a grin on his face.

The escort hands him the microphone and he hollers into it, "My name is Clayton Matthews and I'm this year's victor!" He hears a few hollers in response to his declaration of victory. He loves District Two's enthusiasm. He is urged to shake hands with the girl tribute, Lysette, as the anthem plays in the background. He squeezes her hand so hard that the bones crush together. Clayton is intrigued when she returns the favor with hard eyes. Clayton is going to enjoy killing her.

**Alright! This was edited by my WONDERFUL Beta, Ella Not Lotte. I love you chica ^_^**  
><strong>We've been working hard to get this all edited and written well for you guys so I hope This satisfies you. I'll leave my little hint at the bottom for you guys still. Hope this is a lot better than the original. :)<strong>

**Now the CLUE!**

**"Light fills the arena, but there is no sun. You can see, but nothing is visible. Its not cold yet you need a jacket. Let the games begin."**

**Always,**

**Amara**


	4. The Reapings of Three

**A/N: Alright so this is the edited version of D3. Comparing the two, this is a while lot better! :)  
>Much thanks to my AMAZING beta <span>Ella Not Lotte<span> for putting up with my terrible writing and giving me such wonderful ideas. Much thanks go to her and she will be hearing from me more often to help me out :D**

Every house in Panem has a television set. When the Hunger Games began, the Capitol supposedly issued out the sets in order to "properly" televise them, although their real purpose is to force everyone to watch their children die. They can't be shut off during the Games as the Capitol controls the sets by remote control.

The Nebulon family is no exception. Their television isn't extravagant, no bigger than the stand it sat on. Most days, the screen displayed Capitol news and lots obnoxious sitcoms Capitol people love. Other days, it's full of the Hunger Games and replays of the unfortunate children that participated in them.

This morning, the screen displays the colorful explosions and fake gore of a video game. Tetris Nebulon had never grown out of them, and to be honest he doesn't care. The screen dissolves and a default screen with the words "Game Over" dancing back and forth appears, rubbing in the fact that he has failed.

"Damn." Tetris whispers, tossing his controller down on the floor. He'd been sure he had solved the game, but the mazes and puzzles were more difficult than he'd anticipated. He runs a hand through his hair.

He doesn't know what he's doing wrong. He was able to open all the doors by solving all those ridiculous puzzles to get the pass codes, he destroyed the Intel tower, and defeated the main bad guy but still ended up dying when his own teammates turned on him. He can't find a way to prevent his teammates from turning on him. He kills the leader, his teammates kill him. He lets the leader live but takes him as a prisoner, his teammates kill him. He lets the bad guy gets away he fails the game. Tetris lets out a frustrated groan.

"Stuck on that game, sweetie?" His mother, Theresa, asks poking her head into the room. Tetris gives a sigh.

"Yeah, a little. Although that's expected since you designed the game." His mother laughs.

"I only helped. Glad you like it." Tetris has to smile at this. It's a well-known fact within his family that when he begins to struggle on a game he becomes obsessed with solving it.

"I'll try not to game _too _hard. We won't need to scrape my brains off the wall." It is his mother's turn to laugh. He likes his mother's laugh. She seemed less stressful and, what the heck, like she was 25 again. With Father always gone to the Capitol for work and his older sister living with her boyfriend, his mother has a lot on her plate trying to provide for two boys without any help.

"Yes, I wouldn't want to have to clean up _that _mess as you have a ton of brains in that noggin of yours. Listen, I'm going to stop by the neighbors' house reeeal quick. Can you wake your brother up? We don't want to be late getting to the square." Tetris nods his head.

"Sure thing, mom." She smiles and her head disappears from the room. Once he hears the front door close he rises to his feet.

Velas was sprawled across his bed, blankets wrapped around him and limbs in odd positions, some of them Tetris hadn't even thought possible before that moment. Tetris shakes his shoulder.

"Velas, wake up." No response. He doesn't even twitch. Tetris shakes him harder.

"Vel, you have to get up now." Again, no response. Tetris sighs, takes a few steps back, and jumps on top of his sleeping brother. Velas screams and squirms under the weight of his brother.

"Tetris, get off me!" Velas laughs.

"Let me think about that for a minute." Tetris replies with a feigned expression of thought. He lays there in his fake thinking mode while Velas continues to struggle underneath him.

"Get _off_ me!" Velas cries, trying to push Tetris off of him. A smile spreads almost involuntarily across his lips.

"What's the password?" Tetris asks in a nasally voice.

"Uncle, _uncle_!" Velas screams, still trying to push Tetris off of him. By this time, Velas has a toothy grin that stretches across his entire face and a chuckle or two escape from his mouth.

"That a boy." Tetris replies. He pats his brother's head before pushing himself off of him.

"Get up little brother and get ready. We don't want to miss another '**Big Day**!'" Tetris says, imitating their obnoxious escort. Velas laughs and leaves the room. Tetris follows him to the kitchen where they sit across from each other, munching on cereal. They eat in silence, enjoying each other's company. The only sound made in the room is the sound of slurped milk and spoons against bowls.

"Tetris?" Velas begins, breaking the silence.

"Mhm?"

Velas is silent for a second before asking, "Are you scared?"

Concern splashes across Velas' face. Velas isn't ignorant of the punishment that the Capitol bestowed onto the twelve districts. Velas only has one year left before he will be eligible to participate as well. Why hide it from him? Their older sister was never reaped from the glass balls that sit up on the stage in the district square. If Tetris doesn't get reaped this year, he still has three more to go. He has a good chance as he grew up in a wealthy family. There was no need for him to take out tesserae, so he has a grand total of four slips in the reaping ball. The odds are in his favor.

"A little. I'm more afraid of someone we know having to get sent into the arena, though." His face is grim and he knows it. He isn't afraid to hide that he feels sorry for every kid that has to go in. So far, District 3 has only had one winner and he won by hiding throughout the whole thing. The boys dress in silence after breakfast and meet their mother at their neighbors' house. When they arrive, Theresa's talking to a middle aged woman with tears streaming down her cheeks. The woman is hysterical; she spits words out faster than the boys' ears can comprehend. Theresa shakes her head and says something soothingly. Tetris doesn't know what the two women are talking about, but obviously their neighbor isn't taking it well.

Finally, their neighbor disappears into the house and comes back out with a girl. She can't be older than 12. By the look on the girl's face, she is and it's her first reaping. Theresa takes the girl by the hand and leads her away from her crying mother.

"Let's go boys." She says quietly when she's within earshot. Neither Tetris nor Velas asks what had happened between their mother and the neighbor. Neither really wants to know. The walk to the reaping area is a quiet one.

Unlike their neighboring Districts, 2 and 4, District Three has never seen the Hunger Games as a time to rejoice. Nay, it was a time to mourn. Having only one winner through sheer luck is not really encouraging. Theresa checks Tetris and the little girl in to the Peacekeeper stationed by their street. He escorts them to their proper sections and locks them into the sea of people with a single stretch of rope. Considering all the years that tributes have tried to run away, many would think a more efficient way of keeping the kids where they were would have been installed. But the kids knew. Run away and you die. Stay put and you have the potential to die. Many choose the latter.

The Head Peacekeeper nods to the mayor when everyone is checked in and sorted into their appropriate sections. The Mayor stands and mounts the podium that stands at the front of the stage.

"Good day District Three," the Mayor booms into the microphone, "Today we celebrate another reaping day where two _lucky_ tributes from our district have the opportunity of a life time to have a chance at bringing our District _glory_!" His voice expresses enthusiasm, but his facial expression shows pain and disgust.

"The Hunger Games were bestowed upon our country as a result of the actions our ancestors made more than 20 years ago-" Tetris stops listening at this point. He can't stand listening to the long speech about how 'we as people of the Districts deserve what we are forced to do because we felt the Capitol was wrong.' It sickens him. He looks down at his feet trying not to pay any attention to the speech. It's difficult but he is able to tone out the speech until the shrill voice of their escort breaks his concentration.

"Gooooood Morning, District Threeee!" Destiny Flowers shrieks into the microphone, making it pop under the intense frequency.

"Let's shake it up a little and start with our handsome men, shall we?" Destiny moves across the stage to the glass ball holding the names of all the boys in his district. It seems to take forever for her to make her way back to the podium once she has a slip in her hand.

"Tetris Jamison Nebulon! Where are you son? Don't be _shy _now." Tetris stands there, stunned. Did she really just call his name? He feels a shove on his arm and his legs start moving automatically. He mounts the stage and with each step, his shock disappears and is replaced by pure determination.

"Now that's a good boy. Stand right there, that's it. Now how about we have our male tribute draw his female counterpart?" She pushes him to the glass ball on the opposite side of the stage. Tetris draws a slip and quickly calls out the name.

"Edith Gardner." From the twelve-year-olds' section comes the daughter of his neighbor, the one that had been crying just a little while before. He prayed for someone to volunteer, though it has never happened yet in his district. No one did.

He had just as good as killed his neighbor's daughter.

**Leaving the clue here for you guys. Look forward to more**

**"Flesh for flesh, that is all they seek. Within you bones do they make home. Off your flesh do they feed."**

**Always,  
>Amara Kingley<strong>


	5. The Reapings of Four

_**Disclaimer: I, Amara Kingley, do not claim any rights to the characters, places and original world illustrated in this piece. They are owned by their respected creators.**_

**_This is chapter is dedicated to Sugarcoated. Thanks for showing interest in this._**

_**Blythe:**_

"Blythe, wake up." Blythe Addison slowly peels open her eyes to the sound of her name. She squints against the intense sunlight shining in her eyes. She waits for her eyes to adjust to the light before looking up at her brother who is sitting up in bed.

"Hey Ben." She yawned. "Sleep well?" Ben nodded sending sandy curls into his face. She would believe her brother if she hadn't lived through the fits he had the previous night, hence her presence in his room. She let her brother's lame reply slide. Bringing up his illness and making him feel guilty wasn't something she wanted to do.

Blythe brushes her brother's curls out of his face and lightly kisses his forehead. She smiles at him with as much love as a sister can have for her brother, which is infinite.

"Let me get you something to eat." She states as though a fact. Ben scrunches his nose.

"It won't be any of that grainy stuff will it?" She chuckles.

"Not today. I'll make you something tasteful." Ben smiles a toothy grin, light returning to his dull eyes. She chuckles and leaves the room. Her smile falls once Ben was out of sight. Blythe leans against the wall and slowly falls to the ground with her head in her hands. In truth, Ben is very sick. No one knows exactly what is wrong with him. They have tried everything from home remedies to psychic touches. All that can be done is treating his symptoms, but the remedies don't help much. The "grainy stuff" that he mentioned is a special dietary grain that helps drown out the awful taste of his medicine. He hates the stuff but he puts on a brave face and eats it. It hurts. Having a brother that has to fight to live through the each day is stressful and exhausting. She is 15 yet she feels 40. This isn't how a 15 year old should feel. If only she could afford a doctor. Maybe then could Ben stop suffering day in and day out.

Blythe takes a deep breath and stands up. She must stay strong for Ben. She goes into the kitchen and gets the essentials to make Ben's breakfast. Her mother stumbles into the kitchen just as she was beginning to whip together the mixture. Her mother rubs her eyes groggily and sits down at the kitchen table.

"How are you, mother?" Blythe asks.

"Fine." Her mother answers softly. She looks over to the kitchen where Blythe is still cooking. Her eyes are sad and remorseful looking at her daughter cook for her sickly son. She stands and holds her hand out.

"Let me do it Blythe. You need to get ready to go anyway."

"Its fine mom, I got it." Blythe responds without looking up from her work to meet her mother's eyes. Her mother's face falls and replaced by annoyance.

"Blythe _let me_ do it. I am your _mother_. Let me do what mothers _ought to do_." Blythe lets out a frustrated groan.

"You never cared before." Blythe mumbles, pouring some of the mixture into a pan she had brought out during her mother's nagging. The loud _crack_ of her hand across Blythe's cheek sends Blythe's head spiraling. She puts a hand to her cheek, shock preventing her from comprehending what has just happened. In anger and shock, Blythe leaves her mother and speed walks to her room that is located across from Ben's. Blythe slams the door with a _bang _with the hope that her mother would hear it and feel remorse.

Blythe screams in anger and frustration. Small knickknacks that decorated her dresser were sent crashing to the floor, pieces breaking and flying in random directions across her floor. _I hate her, I hate her! _She screams in her head. She lets out another angry scream. _She let him go. She let him leave us. It's all her fault. All her fault. _She glances up at her clock. The red lights of the digital clock flash 10:00 am. Four hours and counting until two people from four- most likely careers that volunteer for this bloody game- will leave for the Capitol. Most likely they won't be coming back.

Ben's coughing can be heard through the door. His coughing falters and picks up again with intensity. Blythe picks herself off the floor and rushes to Ben's side without ever giving the thought on how she ended up on her floor to begin with. Ben's body shakes with the ravaging coughing that doesn't show any signs of stopping. Blythe rubs Ben's back and repeatedly telling him to try and breathe with her. Her exaggerated breathes don't help as Ben continues to cough.

Time passes slowly for her. She rushes back and forth between his room and the kitchen grabbing glass after glass of water for her brother. She couldn't get Ben to swallow the water. It all ends up on the floor. At one point during his fit, she thinks he stopped breathing. It didn't last long. He slowly gained his breathe back though it was weak.

After everything and sending Blythe in a panic, Ben stopped coughing and now lay asleep exhausted from trying to regain his breathe. A knock on his door peels Blythe away from her spot by his side to come face to face with her mother and a man in uniform.

"Blythe, this Peacekeeper is here to check on Ben. He needs to make sure that he is indeed too sick to attend the Reaping today." Blythe looks to her mother, the woman who didn't come to help her when Ben went into another one of his fits. She hesitates before stepping out of the way for the Peacekeeper to enter the room. The man kneels down next to Ben and inspects him with steady hands. Blythe was impressed by his sure hands that knew how to check him for illness. When the man stands up after his inspection, the patch on his arm for District Six becomes visible.

"Well, he is indeed sick. Looks to be some kind of pathogen infecting his lungs. I can't tell you for sure what exactly it is but if I were to bet money on it I'd say it was Pneumonia."

The color from Blythe's face drains. She has heard of this disease. She could see Ben getting worse and worse. Those images flashing across her eyelids scare her more than anything.

"He's too sick to go to the Reaping today. I'll be sure to report this to the Head Peacekeeper. However," he looks to Blythe with sad eyes, "I expect to see you at the Reaping." He leaves after his last words, the wings on his patch flashing in the dim light almost like they were fluttering.

Once the sound of the front door closing reaches their ears do Blythe and her mother move. Blythe takes her spot by Ben once again.

"Blythe, you heard what he said. You need to get ready to go." Blythe made no move.

"I can't just leave him mother. I refuse to be like that man." Her mother sucks in a breath. The mention of Blythe's father was a rarity. He left for some whore he "fell in love with" and her mother let him leave. She won't be like him. She won't leave.

"Blythe, _you don't have a choice_. Either you go or they'll come for you and_ make_ you go." Blythe knows this in her mind but she just can't seem to find the effort to pull herself away from Ben's side. A hand places itself on her shoulder.

"Please Blythe. Go. Going to this won't make you like him." Blythe lets out a long breath and stands up.

"Alright, I'll go." She replies with a hint of regret in her voice. It doesn't take long for Blythe to blindly find something to change into and leave for the square. The walk from her house to the square takes roughly 30 minutes. It was a quiet walk. No one paid much attention to her as she walks the streets full of people visiting homes to pick up relatives for the "festivities."

The Peacekeepers are very organized and strict. Two seconds to give your name. Eight seconds to find said name. One second to confirm and check off. Twelve seconds to unlock designated pen and relock after tribute has entered. Repeat the process. In total Twenty-three seconds to "prep" the children of the district for their doom. It took Blythe Twenty-Five seconds to get into her pen, spending two seconds to look behind her for no particular reason than the odd feeling in the pit of her stomach. Perhaps it was to look at her home that was two and a half miles away and not visible from the crowd. Maybe it was to see if Ben had followed her like he used to as a little. She herself didn't know why.

Her two second delay makes the whole event two seconds behind. Hoorah. The Mayor, a very thin and snooty woman in her mid-forties, takes the stage. A small smile displays on her face in fake pleasure. The whole district but her pathetic husband knows she would rather be back at her hideaway with that girlfriend she has. Poor guy.

"Good afternoon District Four! What a lovely day it is. Now before we get to choose our two lucky tributes, let us indulge ourselves in tale of how we got to where we are." The Mayor goes off on a tangent and rambles on about the history and the Treaty, interjecting comments that she believes are witty and hilarious. It's a relief when the escort comes up to the stage.

_Well, at least she isn't freakishly dyed with scales or anything_. Blythe thinks to herself as she takes in the normality of the escort's skin tone. Her appearance is overall pretty normal.

"Heeeellllooooooo District Four! I can't tell you how much I love being here! I love the ocean and getting to see it right here is the best thing ever! I wish you all the best of luck!" She sticks her hand into the male Reaping ball.

"Gerard Harrison!" a cry rings out from the crowd as a burly boy comes from the 18 year old section. Probably his mother or his girl.

"I VOLUNTEER!" and there it is. The usual hot headed male. A smaller boy than the first jogs up from the 17 year old section. The first boy seems to know the other. They argue for a bit before the elder hangs his head and heads back to his pen. The younger boy takes the stage and the escort smiles big.

"What's your name sweetie?"

"Charles Harrison." The boy says into the microphone shoved into his face. The escort nodded knowingly.

"I bet that was your older brother huh? Can't let him steal the lime light all the time." She doesn't wait for a response and sticks her hand into the other glass ball for females.

"Blythe Addison!"

Shock. Shock is what Blythe feels at the call of her name. When it wears off, she feels anger. Most usually feel fear or excitement. Not Blythe. She feels anger at the luck she seems to have. She mounts the stage and no one volunteers for her. _Fabulous. _She thinks. A scowl finds its way to her lips and she could feel her overall expression harden with anger and hatred. Her expression never lifts even in the goodbye room when her mother comes in, crushing her into a hug and tells her to come back. That she didn't want to lose two children.

She feels anger as she refuses any other visitors; not her friends, her ex-boyfriend, nor anyone else that claims to know her. She feels anger as she sits alone in that room. She feels anger boarding the train to the Capitol. She feels anger as the sea line reaches out of view for what seems to be the last time. She feels hatred for the Capitol, the one that has torn her away from her family. They will pay.

_**Charles:**_

Most boats were docked on land on reaping day. Under the Capitol rule, all workers have the day off and the schools are closed in order for everyone to attend the "festivities" that afternoon. On the morning of the 20th reapings, one boat sailed the ocean. The ocean waves lap at the boat's sides, sending a mist of ocean water up to the passengers above. The sun's rays bounce off the water's surface, shining like a thousand diamond shards. The _Oceana_ bobs up and down with the flow of the waves, the linen sails flapping against the cool morning breeze. Charles Harrison lets out a grunt as he yanks on the edge of the fishing net he is hauling in.

Reaping day for Charles was usually like any other day. He doesn't believe in making this day "special" as many people of the district have grown to be fond of doing. Celebrating an event of any kind is something that Charles never understood. It wasn't until he was old enough to know what the Hunger Games were that celebrating birthdays became the only exceptions to his ideal. With the Hunger Games, another year of life is sacred.

"Charles! Be careful with that net!" a man in his late thirties, Charles' father David, calls from across the boat, pulling on his end of the net. "We don't need these nets ripping!" Charles let out another grunt that allowed the man to know he had heard him. It took them both a good 20 minutes to hall the net on the boat. Most of the time was consumed by the many fish struggling to get free of the net which caused much more effort on the fishers' side.

A boat pulls up alone side them, glossy white paint shining in the morning light. The low hum of the engine catches Charles' attention and drops his edge of the net onto the deck of the ship. A Peacekeeper appears to the side of the boat and leans over slightly.

"What are you doing out here? No boats are authorized be out on water today." David crossed the deck and places a hand on Charles' shoulder.

"We forgot to haul this line in yesterday. Figured we'd bring it in rather than risk losing the fish." I he wasn't helping the day before, Charles would have believed his father's lie as well, however he was there and they put out that net and left it there on purpose. Why? They are fisherman. Fisherman fish rain, shine, morning, night, week day or weekend. Why should one day out of the whole year be any different than another fishing day?

The Peacekeeper on the shiny boat stares at them as though contemplating whether they were telling the truth or not. Finally, after a couple of minutes the Peacekeeper seemed to accept their explanation and gives a slight nod.

"Next time, let the Head Peacekeeper know."

"We will remember to do so." David responds with a slight sigh of relief.

"Get this boat docked as soon as possible. I want it unloaded and tied up before we make our second rounds."

"Of course, sir, of course." The boat left and once it is out of sight, David dropped his hand from Charles' shoulder.

"C'mon Charles. Let's get this in before they change their mind."

oOo

Charles sits at the kitchen table, squashed between his elder brother Gerard and his younger sister Ana. It isn't too bad except for the fact that Ana keeps nagging him about keeping his elbows off the table and eating like a "prince" should and Gerard is whispering revolting sweet things in his pregnant fiancé, Katy's ear. It, in all honesty, makes him sick to his stomach that he is just picking at his food with his fork, making the eggs dance around his crumbled grainy toast.

"Charles, stop playing with your food. You and Gerard need to step it up a notch. The reapings will be starting soon." His Mother instructs in a strict tone.

"Yes Ma'am." Charles responds and shoves a forkful of egg into his mouth. Gerard snickers next to him and Charles assumes he is thinking that he is a mama's boy. That isn't it at all. He is just respectful to the opposite sex. It's just how he was raised to respond.

The clock strikes noon. The large family rushes through the struggle to get dressed nicely for the day as the Capitol has requested. Charles wrestles with his tie, trying to make it feel less suffocating than it is.

"Charles, stop messing with your tie. Leave it as it is." Mother pipes while tying Ana's hair back. Charles drops his hands and fights the urge to loosen it again.

Unlike many other kids in the district, Charles walked to the square with his family. Others didn't seem to have a care in the world. Many were bloodthirsty and narcissistic that walking to their death with their family wouldn't even have crossed their mind.

Ana coos at all the decorations of the staging area. Ribbons of sea green and powder blue are stretched across the roofs of buildings in no particular fashion. Shells and pearls are intricately placed at the top of the stage to create an elegant feel of the whole thing.

Charles stands in his place once getting checked in and giving his mother's hand a reassuring squeeze. A feeling in the pit of his stomach made him shake and become nervous. He just wanted this over with so he could rip off his tie and jump into the sea.

The Mayor, a filthy slut of a woman, finally sits down and Ramona Fitz takes the stage. She looks pretty normal for an escort. Charles knew she was newer, probably not yet corrupted by the growing strange fashion of the Capitol. Her matted dreadlocks were tied back in a sort of ponytail away from her face. He could see her sun kissed skin from her shorts and layered green tank.

"Heeeellllloooooooooooo District Four!" she yells into the microphone.

"I can't tell you how much I love being here! I love the ocean and getting to see it right here is the best thing ever! I wish you all the best of luck!" Ramona crosses the stage to the male reaping ball and sticks her hand in. Charles is sending quiet prayers_. Let it not be me. Let it not be Gerard. Please please please._He thinks over and over in his head.

"Gerard Harrison!" Bam. Screaming and the cry for a volunteer. Charles realizes the volunteer is him. He's going into the arena.

**Authors Note: Hey guys! Did you think i forgot this and dropped it? Well you though wrong. Im still doing this piece. I did promise that. I apologize for the major delay. I had a major case of writers block but i am back. Id like to thank Sugarcoated for showing interest in this story therefore this particular chapter is dedicated to her. I hope i portrayed the characters as you would have seen them. I am already working on District Five and I hope to have that one up by next week. Im actually posting without giving this to my Beta first ( ik bad me. Just dont tell her D:) and i may do that from time to time so there are mistakes in this. **

**Alright for the clue:**

**"When the gong rings you choose your fate: do you face the your murderers, or do you run into the mouth of something more deadly."**

**ooooo bone chilling. Until next time,**

**Amara Kingley**


	6. Announcement will be replaced later

To my readers:

I apologize with the big gap that is currently happening in this fiction. I have been writing in it but with uncontrollable circumstances, this had to be put on the back burner for a while. I plan to upload at least 4 new chapters if not more by summer time. I'm shooting for the release date of these chapter of August 2. I will be releasing them ALL at once and hoping for a more consistent release until it is finished but i can't guarantee anything. In summer i plan to have the reapings done and jump shoot to the arrival in the Captiol before attempting this consistency. Some characters are giving me trouble and I thank you all for the lovely tributes this year. It gives me a challenge but i will apologize if they turn out shitty. The District 5 girl was tough and may not have turned out as was expected of me but she was so opposite of me that it was harder to anticipate and to write what she might say, react, and do in situations. but thank you for her. She needed to be in this particular group :) So to help you look forward to Summer, i've included a short game plan that i have for this so you can probably guesstimate for me about when i should have everything released. So for the upcoming chapters, stay tuned and i hope to see you all very soon :)

Game Plan:

1. Reapings/character intro:

Districts 1-4 (released)

Districts 5-12 (Summer 2012)

2. Arrival to Capitol in the views of a select few tribute(s)

(Im skipping the details of the train rides. Itd take to long and its boring)

3. Chariot rides

(Most likely in the view of either one or two tributes but we'll see when we get there)

4. Training

(I will give brief summary of the 3 day training from one tribute and skip right to the scores. I won't go into detail)

5. Heading to the arena in hovercraft

6. Tubes up to the arena

7. The Games Begin& bloodbath

(5-7 will be combined into one chapter)

8. The Games

(I'm not one to give specifics on how many days have passed and honestly i don't give a flying monkey's ass. I'm down into the brutality and focusing on the themes of the games- survival)

9. Final 3 finale

(Like i have said in the past but i shall remind, i'm doing this by luck of the draw. Each person has one name in a hat and whoever's name i draw dies. Most likely very horridly and gorey and in gruesome detail but i think its fair this way. For the Finale, i will draw one name who shall be the winner and i will creatively write the ending.)

10. End

(I havent exactly decided what i want to do for this part yet. I may end it as the winner is lifted up and out of the arena or I may go through the whole ceremony of Victors and up til the winner arrives home. I havent decided yet.)

And with this i shall NEVER do one of these again. EVER. Dont ask me to or beg or plead for i shall NOT. Too much work i tell ya. way too much... id rather do my college work than this... yeah that bad... ahaha

Until Next Time,

Amara Kingley


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